Panoramic Photographers Go After Images In A Big Way

December 30, 1988|By Larry Thall.

The overcast Chicago sky had broken, and it was becoming a perfect day for picture-taking. However, photographer Tom Yanul didn`t budge from behind his desk. There simply was no point-he`d run out of film.

A quick trip to the camera store would have put most photographers back in business long before the afternoon light began to fade. Not so with Yanul. He works in the grand tradition of large-format panoramic photography. His favorite camera, custom-made from his own design, uses 12-inch-wide film available only on special order from Kodak in 100-foot rolls. A roll of black- and-white film yields Yanul only 62 shots and the minimum order costs more than $600. That`s not an insignificant obstacle when the studio phone isn`t ringing regularly.

Still, Yanul is sure to be back shooting from rooftops, documenting Chicago`s ever-changing architectural landscape, in far less time than it takes him to construct one of his swing-lens panoramic cameras. From initial design to final assembly, each takes him about six months to produce-and then it`s time to work the bugs out. To obtain film for his smaller 7-, 8 1/2- and 9 1/2-inch handmade cameras, Yanul cuts shorter widths from his 12-inch rolls of film. He is a patient man, more motivated by love for his work than the pursuit of material rewards.

Panoramic photographers are reputed to possess large capacities for self- abuse. They work with expensive and sometimes recalcitrant equipment. Their film and processing costs are astronomical. The return on their investment is usually small. Results are often disappointing and viewers frequently regard their images as gimmicks-photography `s equivalent of goldfish in the transparent high heel of a shoe.

It`s not surprising that although there are approximately 129,000 professional photographers in the U.S. alone, the International Association of Panoramic Photographers (which is based in this country but accepts applicants worldwide) has fewer than 400 members, despite its minuscule $20 annual membership fee. Of these, one can count on one`s fingers-and perhaps a few toes-those photographers making their living solely from panoramic

photography.

Even if he were provided with an unlimited supply of free 12-inch film, Yanul`s work would not be easy: His camera accepts only one sheet of film at a time, and it`s too big to take advantage of portable film-changing bags.

So for two years Yanul made five or six trips a day to his darkroom to reload his camera, traveling up and back from downtown rooftops to his studio near Midway Airport.

He now has a small, one-room space downtown that he uses for changing film, and he has converted a recently obtained van into a portable darkroom.

``When I started shooting panoramas from rooftops, in 1985, I wanted to shoot everything-record it all,`` Yanul says. ``The architecture in Chicago is changing so fast.``

Three years of working at a feverish pace have netted the photographer a vast body of work containing an unbelievable wealth of visual information about Chicago. Not only do his large contact prints offer superb clarity, but Yanul`s unusual vantage points keep even an indigenous Chicagoan guessing about the precise location of his camera.

When a downtown building is razed, Yanul quickly makes a complete documentation of the views surrounding the site. Once a new skyscraper is erected, these photographs may never be duplicated.

The photographer realizes that most of his images aren`t commercially viable today, but he takes comfort in the knowledge of their inevitable historical importance.

``That`s why anybody keeps going-keeps starving-because he thinks there is worth to what he`s doing,`` Yanul said. ``My father said I`ll be a rich man in 100 years, and that`s probably true. I`m leaving my photographs behind. That`s my legacy.``

As curator of exhibitions for the Chicago Office of Fine Arts, fine-art photographer Kenneth Burkhart enjoys the luxury of shooting exclusively in the panoramic format without worrying about the salability of his images.

Originally a painter, Burkhart came to Chicago in the mid-`70s to pursue a master of fine arts degree at the University of Chicago. Before emigrating from Erie, Pa., however, he obtained a great deal on a very long roll of 4-foot-wide canvas. ``Like all good graduate students, I began painting larger,`` Burkhart says, recalling his long 3 1/2-by-10-foot abstract minimalist works of that period.

``I started dealing with large spaces on canvas, the idea of peripheral vision and what took place at the edges of the frame.`` Simultaneously, he attended a class in the history of photography and became increasingly involved in that medium as well.